


Fifteen Minutes Late With Starbucks

by Laora



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, has this been done before?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 06:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16887519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laora/pseuds/Laora
Summary: Akira brings some unmentionables home to Leblanc.





	Fifteen Minutes Late With Starbucks

**Author's Note:**

> Probably not up to the standards I hold most of my fic to, but I like this too much! I had to post it.

Sojiro thinks he’s been a reasonable guardian for Akira, these past couple of months.

He never saw himself as a father, when he was younger, and he knows he’s not the best parent in the world—but now he supposes he’s doing his best, for both him and Futaba. Akira’s become more talkative, over the weeks, and Sojiro has trusted him with a cafe key—even started to teach him to cook and brew the recipes Wakaba helped him perfect.

He certainly wouldn’t give this trust to just _anyone—_ and he thought that Akira has appreciated this extended olive branch, if the warmer smiles and offers of help in the evenings are anything to go by. He thought that even if they would never have a true parental relationship, they’ve developed some sort of rapport, some kind of mutual _respect_ that would make the next year of their lives that much easier.

Akira  t exted him a few hours ago saying he would be back late after a study group for his upcoming exams, and Sojiro had responded in the affirmative. The kid’s grades have been decent (as would be expected of someone terrified of being kicked out), but trying to raise them further is never a bad thing. He trusts Akira enough, after all, to lock up the cafe behind him and not burn the building down making dinner.

He _thought_ he’s been instilling good, practical sense in him as well. When the bell above the door jingles and Akira walks in with his bag over one shoulder and a green and white cup in hand, he realizes that every one of his teachings has been for naught.

“Sorry I’m back so late,” he opens with, closing the door carefully behind him and setting that accursed cup on the countertop that Sojiro _just_ wiped down. “Ann’s been helping us with English, and—”

“ _What is that?”_ Sojiro grinds out, his teeth clenched so hard it hurts, and Akira blinks at him before following his gaze to the cup.

“ Oh,” he says, and Sojiro wants to slap that embarrassed smile right off his face. “I’ve got some more studying to do before I go to bed. I figured I’d grab some more coffee at the station so I wouldn’t have to worry about making it myself.”

Sojiro’s face contorts, and he feels that using the term _coffee_ to describe such sludge is an insult to the proper drink, but Akira continues—”Anyway, thanks for waiting up for me, but I’ll just be studying the rest of the night, and we ate dinner earlier, so—”

“No,” Sojiro says sharply, as Akira moves to pick up the cup again. “That’s going outside, and you’re going with it unless you want to dump that overpriced _trash_ down the sink.”

Akira blinks at him, and Sojiro almost feels bad for the hurt crossing his features except for the utter lack of common sense he’s just displayed. He thought the kid was _better_ than this.\h

“ I’ll make you another cup myself before letting that come one step further into my cafe,” he says, and Akira’s confusion bleeds into something like annoyance.

“ Sure, it’s not as good as yours,” he says, and Sojiro thanks himself for this much, at least, “but it works, yeah? I’m not picky, so long as it keeps me awake.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his temper. Alienating Akira now, just when they’ve started trusting each other, would be counterproductive on all fronts—but _damnit_ if he isn’t disappointed in this stupid kid. He wonders what Wakaba would say, should she see this kid walk in with—with _that._ “It’s an embarrassment to proper coffee everywhere,” he says between his teeth, and Akira raises his eyebrows. “It’s overpriced, over-roasted, and that to-go cup _ruins_ what mediocre flavor it might have. You’re _not_ bringing that upstairs.”

Akira looks more skeptical still. “All right,” he says slowly, and proceeds to chug the entire cup.

Sojiro looks on in distaste, nausea, and undisputed horror. The kid—snot that he is—is following instructions, but in the most disgusting way possible. How such burnt, overprocessed _slop_ appeals to the younger generation, he will never know—

“ I’ll even throw it away outside,” Akira says with a cocky little smile, stepping outside briefly to toss the cup into the neighbors’ bin. “Happy now?”

“ No,” Sojiro says. “Just go upstairs, and don’t do it again.”

“Right,” Akira says. He lets the cat out of his bag (onto the floor that he _just_ swept, though he thinks it’s not as infuriating as that—that _drink_ was), and Sojiro gets the distinct impression that it’s laughing at them both.

Cats don’t have a sense of humor, right? They’re just cats. Sojiro shakes his head sharply, assuming the fumes from Akira’s contraband must be getting to his head. He watches his charge disappear up the stairs with a vague wave, and then grabs a cloth, soaping it up again and scrubbing down the counter.

_Stupid kid,_ he thinks to himself, and locks the door on his way out.

.

The next day, Akira comes to study at Leblanc with his friends. Ryuji orders his typical soda, and Yusuke takes coffee and a generous helping of curry. But Ann— _Ann,_ who Sojiro had hoped was the most reasonable of the lot—carries a clear cup with a domed top, a green straw, and some pink, whipped-cream _abomination_ held within. She sips at it cheerfully as she turns down Sojiro’s offer of coffee.

Akira grins at Sojiro as they spread their books on the table, but his friends seem none the wiser—and he only sighs heavily, turning away. Some people never learn, he supposes. And if Akira—a kid reckless enough to meddle in adults’ affairs and get himself arrested—decides to be stupid about something else, he supposes it can’t be helped.

The cafe slowly starts to fill up with the rush hour crowd, and Sojiro is pleased to see people appreciating _proper_ coffee again. Ann’s cup is soon emptied, thrown in the trash (and he makes a mental note to dig it out later, in case the approximate kilogram of sugar in it could somehow infect his shop), and he feels his mood improving as she orders a mocha from him instead, with extra whip.

It’s not ideal, but he’s optimistic that if he can show her how good his coffee is in comparison (and nearly 200 yen cheaper!) she can be convinced of the error her ways.

The bell chimes, and another familiar face strides in, briefcase in hand and smile wide. Sojiro’s ready to greet him with a smile of his own, but the cup in his hand stops him cold.

“ I’d just like some curry today,” Goro Akechi says, sitting on his customary stool at the end of the counter. “The house special, if you don’t mind.”

Someone snorts, from the kids’ booth, and he glances over to see Akira shaking, covering his mouth with one hand. “Only if you order a coffee to go with it,” Sojiro says, and Akechi raises a brow at his tone.

“ I got a coffee earlier,” he says. “It’s not ideal, of course, but I needed a little something extra for the last couple hours at work, and—“

“ That’s not coffee,” Sojiro nearly spits, and snatches the cup from beneath his nose before Akechi can even blink. He pours it down the sink, crumples the cup before throwing it in the trash, and nearly slams a fresh mug of Wakaba’s coffee on the counter.

“On the house,” he says, through gritted teeth, and Akechi’s staring at him like he’s never quite seen him before, “as long as you don’t _ever_ do that again.”

Akechi’s silent for long enough that Sojiro almost starts to worry that he’s crossed some sort of line. He thinks he could never do that, though—not while defending his very livelihood and everything he’s ever stood for. “My apologies,” the boy says at last, reaching slowly for the mug and bringing it to his lips. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“ Don’t do it again,” he says grumpily, and turns away.

He gets the feeling that Akira’s laughter is now directed toward him, and makes a mental note to leave him with cleanup duty tonight. Serves him right, stupid kid—and the next time anyone tries to bring a Frappa-what’s-it through his door, he resolves to dump it over their head.

 


End file.
